Vivid Description of the Battle Field.
(Correspondence
Cincinnati Commercial.)
A Ride to the Battle –
The Battle Ground – Scenes on the Battle Field – Pursuit of the Enemy – The Rebel
Camp – The Property Taken – One Hundred and Ninety Rebels Buried.
Having seen many accounts of the battle of Webb’s Cross
Roads, (variously called the battle of Fishing Creek, Old Fields, Somerset, and
Mill Springs,) it would seem hardly necessary to chronicle any further relative
to it. But as this is the first battle
field I visited before the dead and wounded were removed, I feel disposed to
make a note of some of my experiences connected with it.
During two weeks prior to the engagement, I was at Somerset,
attending to some business matters for the Twelfth Kentucky Regiment. – All this
time, much anxiety was felt by the forces under General Thomas, so that an
advance could be made upon the fortified position of Zollicoffer, at Mill
Springs. The welcome tidings finally
reached us Friday morning, Jan. 17th, that Gen. Thomas was at Webb’s Cross
Roads, seven and a half miles west, or south west of Somerset, with 6,000 men
and, before 11 o’clock a. m., Schoepff’s brigade was under way to join them. The difficulties of that march through rain
and mud, have been better described by those who were in it than I can do
it. That Zollicoffer would come out of
his entrenchments and attack our forces was entirely unexpected – consequently no
battle was looked for this side of his position at Mill Springs.
Early on Sunday morning, January 19th, we heard the roar of
cannon beyond fishing creek, which betokened a battle. Like many younger men I felt “eager for the
fray.” Lieut. Colonel Howard, of the Kentucky
12th, being confined to his bed by sickness, I mounted his well known charger, “Nelly
Gray,” and went to fill his place, or rather to try. The distance from
Somerset to the Salt works on Fishing Creek, where we crossed, is five miles. The mud, a kind of reddish clay and very
soft, was from six inches to half as many feet in depth. I fell in with a squadron of Wolford’s Cavalry,
escorting six caissons of ammunition, each caisson being drawn by eight horses,
driven by for riders. There were also in
the company thirty six relief horses in harness, for Standart’s Battery, which
was already on the ground. To see this
train in motion while the horses were pressed to the top of their speed, could
be compared to nothing better than a wild tornado, accompanied by a halt a
dozen whirlwinds playing with the mud as though it were the chaff of a threshing
floor, obscuring at times the caissons, horses and riders. The cavalcade reached the high bank
overlooking Fishing Creek, in about twenty minutes from Somerset, and came to a
halt. The Creek was so high that it was
said it could not be forded or at least the ammunition would be spoiled in
passing through. In addition to this a
frightened wagon-master reported that Zollicoffer’s forces had got between our
army and the Creek and thus cut off supplies and reinforcements from
Somerset. During these few moments of
suspense, and while the fire of artillery seemed to be increasing I rode down
the long steep hill to the water’s edge, determined to cross at all hazards.
While calculating my chances in one of the strongest
currents I ever saw forded, a gentle man upon a powerful strong-limbed horse
rode up and gave it as his opinion that the creek could be forded. Being more excited that I was he plunged into
the stream. Without waiting to see how
he “came out,” and knowing that mortal
horse could not do more than “Nelly Gray,” I followed. We made the opposite shore in safety. By this time the whole cavalcade (excepting
caissons) had reached the creek, and in a few minutes passed safely over. We halted with the cavalry in front of widow
Campbell’s house (secesh), and sent forward a reconnoitering party. Soon one of the party returned and reported
the road clear. The distance from
Fishing Creek to Webb’s Cross Roads, where our forces had bivouacked the night
before the battle, is two and a half miles.
We had made about two miles of this distance, when the artillery ceased
firing and soon after we met a man riding furiously down the hill. – When we succeeded
in bringing him to a halt, he told us Zollicoffer was dead and his army in full
retreat. This man was hardly recognized
by his old acquaintances, for his naked, sparkling eye balls seemed to be the
only two spots about him not covered with mud.
It was Dr. Hale. When he had told
us his story, on he flew to tell it to other persecuted Union men. Zollicoffer is slain, his forces are
overthrown, scattered and destroyed! We
are again free! Men, women and children
shouted and even wept for joy. At that
moment I did not wait to moralize for while Dr. Hale was spreading the glad
tidings in one direction, Nelly Gray had anticipated the cavalcade in the other,
and was first on the battle field. My
first inquiry was for the Kentucky 12th, but no one could tell me where they
were, or what party they had taken in the action. Only one dead man had been brought in. The body laid upon the ground in front of one
of the Minnesota tents surrounded by some twenty soldiers. It had been stripped of all clothing except
the pants and two soldiers were busy in washing off the mud with which it had
been covered. It was almost as white and
transparent as the most delicate wax work.
The fatal wound was in the breast, and was evidently made with a pistol
ball as it could be easily covered with the end of my finger. There was another wound upon the inside of
his right arm, above the elbow, and still another glancing wound a little above
his hip. This was Zollicoffer! He whose name had so long been a terror to
men who loved their country on the banks of the Cumberland. With some doubts at the time in my mind as to
whether this was really the body of the rebel chief, I turned away to visit the
field of battle.
The hospital tents had been hastily pitched in a small open
field at the cross roads and along the edge of the woods skirting the south
side of this field were the first marks of the storm of destruction which had
waged so fearfully an hour before.
Nearly through the middle of the field is the road leading to Mill
Springs, in a south or southwesterly direction.
I entered the woods on the east side of this road. All along the edge of the open field lay the
bodies of four or five of our men. As I
advanced into the woods the marks of cannon shot could be seen on every side,
but I saw none of these marks nearer than twenty feet from the ground nor did I
see a dead or wounded man who had been struck with a cannon shot, Dr. Cliffe,
Zollicoffer’s brigade surgeon, afterwards told me that among all their wounded,
so far as they had come in, only one had been injured by artillery and he had
lost his arm. Passing through the woods
from the first open field, a distance of nearly half a mile, we reached another
open, half cleared field on the left of the road. In this field there stands some deadened
timber, many large stumps and trees, some of the latter having been cut down,
and some fallen from decay. In this
field the ground is quite steep, with a southern descent to near the center of
the field, and then rises as rapidly till you reach the woods on the
south. In the eastern part of this field
is a log house and a barn and an apple orchard.
Eighty five dead rebels lay in this field, which by way of distinction,
I will call the “old field.” Further on
and to the right of the road is the cornfield where the brave Indiana 10th
suffered so severely. In the woods and
along the road the scene was dreadful. – One body was placed in a sitting
posture with the back leaning against a tree, the hands crossed in his lap, his
eyes partially open and lips slightly parted.
The ball had entered his left breast just above the region of the
heart. Another laid upon his side with
the head and arms thrown back, the ball had cut away a part of his skull over
his left eye.
Among a score or more of our own noble dead, I saw not one
badly mangled body, like those which I saw at Vienna. And I loved, also, to fancy at least, that I
saw clearly stamped upon each cold face a clam and holy satisfaction in pouring
out their blood in a noble cause – to save from ruin the land of our
fathers. There are mothers, wives and
sisters, who would gladly have braved the leaden hailstorm of the battle field,
to minister to the dying soldier. Let
such console themselves – that death is a common lot, and far more preferable
in any form, to life in a land of despotism and anarchy. The cause in which your husband, brothers and
sons have fallen is not a cause of wickedness and oppression, but of truth,
freedom and right. The fields of
Kentucky have been freshly watered with hallowed blood, and the pirates are being
hunted from her borders. My own brave boy
was either among the slain or pursuing the flying foe. In which of these positions I might find him,
I know not. I could possibly enjoy no
higher honor than in the sacrifice of all I held dear, for the salvation of my
country. With all the anxieties common
to parents, I searched for his well known countenance among the slain. So close was the resemblance in many cases
that my pulse quickened and my brain began to reel. I remembered that he wore a pair of boots of
peculiar make, and before I dared to let my eyes rest upon the face, there was
a mark – not on his. I passed on in haste, but suddenly felt
compelled to stop once more, against a tree, leaned back in the more classic
composure was the fairest and most beautiful countenance I ever saw in
death. No female complexion could be
more spotless. The silky locks of wavy
auburn hair fell in rich profusion, upon fair temples and a faultless
forehead. Some friendly hand had parted
his garments, bearing his breast, from which the read current of life flowed
out, and had bathed his temples, which were still warm but had ceased to throb
forever. O, ye winds, bear these tidings
softly to the loved ones at home.
Among the wounded of our men, it was really comforting to
see with what patient heroism they bore their pains. I said to one poor fellow, with a shattered
leg, “you must be in great pain, can I do anything for you?” He said, “There are others worse off than me,
when they are carried in, you can tell them where I am if you please.” Another man had a ball through his right hand,
breaking two of the bones. He had done
it up himself with a wet bandage and with his other hand was carrying one corner
of a stretcher, with a wounded man, carrying another corner of the same stretcher,
was a man with his head and face covered with blood. He said he was not hurt at all, he had only
lost a large piece of his hat and a small piece of his scalp.
In the “old fields” among the rebels some of the scenes were
horrid and revolting in the extreme. A
large number of the dead were shot in the head.
One was shot directly in the eye and the brain was oozing from the
wound. Five dead and one wounded lay
behind one log, all but the wounded one were shot in the head. One rebel had a ball through his neck which
destroyed the power of speech – though I don’t think his wound was mortal. Several of the dead were old and gray headed
men. A dark complexioned man with a
heavy black beard, who said he was from Mississippi was lying on the ground
with a broken thigh. He was stern and
sullen – he had only one favor to ask – that was that some one of us would kill
him. I said to him we will soon take you
to the surgeon and do all we can to relieve you for we are satisfied you have
been deceived by wicked men, and do not know what you have been doing. To which he meekly replied – that is
possible. A younger man, quite a boy,
begged me not to let the Lincolnites kill him.
An elderly man sat with his back against a stump with a ball directly
through the center of the head at the base of the brain. There was a ghastly grin upon his
countenance, his eyes were stretched widely open and staring wildly into
vacancy while his breath was rapid, deep and heavy. His was a living death for he was
senseless. A lad of fourteen with a
mashed ankle, protested his innocence and begged to be taken care of. He said he had never fired a gun at a Union
man and never would. Numbers of rebels
made in effect the same declaration.
I left these fields of human suffering with feelings such as
I never before experienced. – The freshness of death seemed to fill the whole
atmosphere. It was a scene which a man
needs only to look upon once in his life time in order to occupy all his power
of reflection. Following the wake of our
victorious and pursuing army the road, adjoining the fields and woods, were
strewn with blankets, knapsacks, haversacks, hats, boots, shoes, guns, cartridge
boxes, broken wagons, &c., as perfect a scene of destruction as can well be
imagined.
When I left on Thursday evening Col. Hoskins told me the captured horses and mules would probably reach
2,000. Prisoners were being brought
in in little squads, and Capt. Alexander, of Wolford’s cavalry reported that he
had 200 penned up in the rocks two miles below their camp. Crittenden’s entire force (except himself)
consisting of about 2,000 men, are supposed to be on this side of the river.
I returned from the rebel camp in company with Dr. Straw and
his prisoner, Dr. D. B. Cliffe, of Franklin, Tenn., Zollicoffer’s brigade
Surgeon. Dr. Cliffe seems much of a
gentleman and claims to be a Union man.
He says he had to enlist or quit the country, but he had never taken the
oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy.
He confirmed the news of the death of Zollicoffer, and cut several
sticks and limbs, as mementoes from near the place where he fell. Besides Dr. Cliffe, I saw several other prisoners
who seem to be gentlemen, but the mass of them were rough hard unpolished
subjects – just such a set as one would be likely to judge “fit for treason,
stratagem and spoils.”
I have only noted such items as came under my own
observation and comparatively only a few of them. The order of battle and acts of personal
bravery will be better told by those who witnessed them. Lieut. E. G. Jacobs told me he saw a
Minnesotian coolly advance from the ranks some distance, and placing his rifle
by the side of a tree take a long and deliberate aim toward the old log house,
when a rebel head which had been peering from behind the corner of the house
was suddenly discovered to have a body attached to it by its pitching at full
length from the end of the house. I
found seven dead bodies in this old building who must have been killed by close
shooting between the logs. When I left 190 rebels had been buried in the
old field, and many more still in the woods. Thirty eight of our own men had been buried
in the first field near the tents.
C. T.
– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye,
Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, February 1, 1862, p. 4
